realized she’d been staring at him. Though tempted to ask him about his past, she felt the need to keep her distance. She barely knew the guy. “I’m... You seem pretty sure of yourself. Pretty sure he’s going to be able to talk about these things.”
He flashed a half grin. “Trust me, I’m a professional.”
“That’s what Tess says.”
“Then trust her. She’s your sister.”
Isabel nodded. “Yes, but we haven’t grown up as sisters. It’s...complicated.”
“I don’t have a sister myself, but I’ve heard it’s always complicated.”
“Tess and I met only recently. Did she explain that to you?”
“She said neither of you knew about the other when you were growing up.”
“We connected with each other when she came here a year ago, and she changed everyone’s lives.”
“Seems like Bella Vista—and you and your granddad—changed her life.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What a nice thing to say.”
“Sometimes the truth is nice. A lot of the time, actually.” He moved the wooden chairs out of the pathway. “Does this mean I’m forgiven for losing your colony of bees?”
“Never,” she said.
“That’s harsh.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s me. A harsh woman.”
“My favorite kind.”
“Really?”
He gave her a long, considering look. Then he said, “We’ll see.”
“How’s your knee?” she asked suddenly. “Are you up for a short walk?”
“With you? Hell, yes.”
She turned away quickly, pretending not to be flattered by his enthusiasm. “We can go to the top of that hill with the big oak tree. There’s something up there that might give you some insights about my grandfather...and me. You might find it kind of grim, but it’s part of the story.”
“I can handle grim,” he said simply.
Though tempted to ask him about the grim things he could handle, she’d save those questions for another day. She led the way up the slope, stepping over the ankle-high grass in the meadow, covered in budding lupine.
“It’s the family plot,” she said when they arrived. The rectangular area was west-facing, bathed in afternoon light and surrounded by a wrought iron fence. There were three simple headstones of weathered rock. Oscar Navarro, the caretaker, kept the grass mowed, though wildflowers were left to bloom around the stones—egg-yolk-yellow California poppy, purple sage and tiny delicate wild iris. Not far away was a spreading California oak, its long branches creating a broad shaded area. “See what I mean?” she asked. “Grim.”
“It feels peaceful here,” he said. “A resting place. And it’s sad, yeah.” He regarded the carved stones. “Your grandmother Eva, your mother, Francesca, and your father, Erik.”
“The family plot,” she said. “It doesn’t really make me sad anymore. I don’t associate this spot with the people I’ve lost.”
“Still...Isabel, I’m sorry. Real sorry.”
“Thank you. I never knew either of my parents, but my grandmother, Bubbie...” Even now she couldn’t find the words to express how much she missed her. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could still feel Bubbie’s hand expertly brushing and braiding her hair while singing a soft song in Yiddish about a cherry tree.
“You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know. When Tess first told me about this project, just yesterday, in fact, I didn’t want to talk about anything.”
“But now...?”
“It seems like something my grandfather wants. But his story is entwined with my own...” She bent and picked a sprig of sage, inhaling the savory scent of it.
“Then how about you tell me. Make me understand why you don’t want me here, asking personal questions about your grandfather, your family.”
His frank request startled her, yet oddly enough, she didn’t feel defensive. She chewed her lip, wondering if she could possibly trust him.
He regarded her thoughtfully, then lifted a hand, palm out. “Go ahead. I’m not here to pass judgment. Swear.”
She couldn’t tell if his reassuring manner was genuine, or a journalist’s trick. Please be genuine, she thought. “As I said, it’s a bit complicated. Tess and I are half sisters. We were born on the same day.”
“That’s cool. But how is sharing a birthday a complication for the two of you?”
“Not just the same day.” She took a breath, cut her gaze away from him. “The same year. To different mothers who had no idea the other one existed. That’s why we grew up apart. My grandparents raised me here at Bella Vista, and Tess and her mother lived all over the place, in big cities, mostly.”
He folded his arms across his chest, and she watched him process the information. “Oh. Well. Unusual circumstances make for a good story, anyway.”
“We’re not just a ‘story,’” she said, bridling.
“I get that,” he said. “But I still don’t see why it’s a problem for you. Nothing you’ve told me is going to reflect badly on you. Or your grandfather. Your dad...maybe.”
The tension she’d been holding inside unspooled just a little. Sometimes, when people heard about the unorthodox situation, they acted as if Tess and Isabel were somehow defective, having a rogue of a father who’d been careless enough to get two women pregnant, and then get himself killed in a mysterious car wreck.
Mac studied Erik’s name, carved on the headstone, with a phrase:
Erik Karl Johansen, beloved son. Measure his life not by its length but by the depth of the joy he brought us. He jumped into life and never touched bottom. We will never laugh the same again.
“Our father was a bit of a rogue,” Isabel said. “More than a bit. Sometimes I wonder what he might say in his defense. ‘He jumped into life and never touched bottom,’” she read from the headstone. “I once asked Grandfather what he meant by that, but all he ever said was that Erik had a huge appetite for life.”
“He gave the world two daughters. I can’t imagine your grandfather would have any regrets about you and Tess. And after all this time, the fact that your dad was banging two women doesn’t seem like much of an issue.”
Had he really said banging? How very refined of him. “Has Tess told you anything else about Erik?”
“Nope. Something tells me your sister is preoccupied with other things these days.”
